Chapter 15
CLEO
THE WILDLANDS
It had been seven days surrounded by a swarm of rebels. With the fine clothes she’d arrived here wearing, she stuck out in the camp like a sore thumb. After a day, she’d asked for a change of clothing and received some ragged garments to wear. Jonas gave her an extra tunic and a loose pair of trousers held up only by the power of a drawstring cinched tightly around her waist.
Among the rebels, Cleo had drawn closer to those who didn’t look at her as if they despised her simply for being royalty. Among these rare few was Brion, Jonas’s second in command, and a young, skinny boy named Tarus, who sported a shock of red hair that immediately reminded her of Nic.
Nic.
Worry ate at her with each hour, each day that passed since she’d been taken from the dress shop. Was he all right? What would the king do to him? And Mira . . . she must think Cleo dead by now. If only Cleo could get a message to her.
She’d asked Jonas if she could send one. He’d replied simply with a “no.” And then he’d walked away from her, ignoring her outrage.
Presently, she sat with Brion, Tarus, and one of the very few female rebels, Onoria, around the campfire. Auranian days were warm and temperate and filled with light, but at night here in the Wildlands, the breeze seemed every bit as cold as she imagined Limeros to be.
“Every hawk you see is a Watcher watching us,” Tarus said. “My pa told me that.”
“Every hawk?” Brion scoffed. “Not every single one. Most are just birds, nothing more magical than that.”
“Do you believe in magic?” Cleo asked, curious.
Brion pushed a long stick into the crackling fire. “Depends on the day. Today, not so much. Tomorrow . . . maybe.”
Cleo glanced up. “So what about that hawk? Is that a Watcher?”
A golden hawk had settled into one of the few trees that didn’t have a sleeping shack built into its branches. It seemed quite content to sit there and look down on them.
Onoria looked up at it, pushing long strands of dark hair out of her eyes. “I’ve noticed her before. She never hunts, just watches us. Or, really, if you ask me—she watches Jonas.”
“Really?” Cleo said, now intrigued.
“See? Definitely a Watcher if she’s taken a special interest in our leader.” Tarus stared up at the bird with admiration. “Their wings are made from pure gold, did you know that? That’s what my ma told me.”
Cleo remembered her hours of research as well as the legends she’d heard all her life. “I’ve heard they can also look like mortals if they choose to—with golden skin and beauty unlike anything seen in our world.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen a few unreal beauties in my life.” Brion grinned. “You’re not so bad yourself, princess. And Onoria . . . you too, of course.”
Onoria rolled her eyes. “Save your charm for someone who cares.”
Now Cleo couldn’t hold back her smile. “I assure you, I’m not a Watcher. If I was, I’d escape back to the safety of the Sanctuary as soon as I could.”
“Gotta find a wheel for that,” Tarus said.
Cleo looked at him. “What did you say?”
“A stone wheel.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if it’s true, it’s just what I heard from my grandma.”
The boy’s family seemed filled to overflowing with storytellers.
“What do you mean, a stone wheel?” asked Onoria. “Never heard of that before.”
“It’s how they get back and forth between the mortal world and the Sanctuary in hawk form. They have these magical, carved stone wheels hidden here and there. Might look like nothing but a ruin to us, but without the wheels, they’re trapped here.”
“Don’t let Jonas hear you talking like that,” Brion said. “He won’t listen to any nonsense about magic or Watchers. He thinks it makes Paelsians weak to hold onto legends rather than look at cold, hard facts.”
Magical stone wheels. It was certainly a charming story. Silly, but charming.